


Eating of the tree, etc.

by PoeticallyIrritating



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/F, an apple has unnecessarily sexual undertones, if i were 10x cornier the title of this fic would be 'forbidden fruit'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 18:52:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18555730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoeticallyIrritating/pseuds/PoeticallyIrritating
Summary: [Spoilers for 2x03]In which Eve does not pull the fire alarm.





	Eating of the tree, etc.

**Author's Note:**

> this season is really giving me everything i want in terms of slow burn and almost-touching (and LIPSTICK RAZOR BLADES) but sometimes you have to hurry it along a tiny bit in your own prose because you're gay.
> 
> this was excruciating to title because all the metaphors are both obvious and overdone

“Eve,” says Niko, “Jesus Christ, it’s just an apple.” He shakes his head. “I’m going to go back out there. And you can decide if you actually want to be here.” He opens the classroom door. “If not, I’ll see you at home.”

Left alone now, Eve leans against the desk and turns the apple over in her hand. Maybe she _is_ losing it and her borderline insane heart rate right now is all for nothing.

She lifts the apple to her lips.

“That didn’t turn out so well for Snow White,” says a familiar voice, and Eve’s heart rate jumps into what is probably some kind of danger zone, medically speaking.

“Or Eve?” she suggests.

The door clicks shut and the lock turns.

“I don’t know,” says Villanelle. “Eden is pretty boring.” She makes her way from the door to one of the desks in the front row and sits, crossing her legs one over the other. She’s in some kind of hippie mom getup, including an alternate hair color and—is that glitter? “You can eat it,” she says. “I did not poison it...and I know you are always hungry.”

But now Eve is thinking about Snow White and she follows her first instinct, which turns out to be holding the apple out to Villanelle and saying, “You first.”

Villanelle takes it without touching her hand, but just barely. Eve’s heart has slowed from its initial spike but she can still feel the throb of it in her neck. She watches the muscles in Villanelle’s neck flex and relax as she takes a bite, chews, and swallows, throat bobbing. “See? No poison.”

She’s holding the apple out on her palm, now with one perfect bite taken out.

“And you haven’t built up an immunity to poison like the guy in _The Princess Bride?”_ Eve takes it back anyway because she’s pretty sure that isn’t actually possible.

“No, Eve, I am not immune to poison. But don’t get any ideas.”

Eve looks at the apple, the shape of Villanelle’s mouth in it. She takes her own bite, front teeth digging into the hollow that Villanelle left, and it feels like a ritual. The flesh is sweet and crisp; she takes another bite.

The apple is down to its core—Eve crunching, Villanelle watching as if transfixed—before Eve remembers to ask, “Why are you here?” as she’s wiping apple juice off of her chin.

“Because you are here,” says Villanelle, and Eve’s stomach feels like she’s just gone off a drop on a roller coaster. _She’ll love you to death._

“You’re not trying to kill Niko or anything, are you? Because…”

Villanelle rolls her eyes. “Come on. I only kill people who are important.”

This doesn’t track with her previous experience, but Eve decides it’s best not to argue a serial killer into murdering her husband.

She’s suddenly very aware of the dress she’s wearing, her exposed shoulders, the strip of skin just above her chest, and the reason she becomes aware is because Villanelle is staring. She feels hot but pleasantly so, like when you lock eyes with someone in a bar and they look you up and down.

“You look good, Eve Polastri,” says Villanelle in a voice that sounds almost choked.

“How’s your stomach?” Eve asks. She wants it to be a reminder, to tell Villanelle _I’ve hurt you before and I can do it again,_ but it comes out concerned.

“You want to see?”

“No,” says Eve, but Villanelle is pulling up her loose shirt to reveal a scabbed-over wound with dark stitches running through it.

She wants to touch it.

It’s an insane thought, and she pushes it away as Villanelle drops her shirt.

“It has been very inconvenient,” says Villanelle.

“That was kind of the idea.”

“I thought the idea was to kill me,” Villanelle says. She’s putting on a faux-pout, one full lip protruding.

Eve doesn’t know how to answer that.

“What do you want, Eve? Do you want to kill me? I have another knife, a better one, I will give it to you.”

“No. I want—”

“What, you want to arrest me? Find out who I work for? Stop crime? Bring peace to the continent?”

_Yes,_ she should say, _of course,_ but Villanelle is smirking because she knows that Eve does not give one single fuck about keeping boring rich men from getting stabbed with hairpins.

What Eve really wants is so huge and inexpressible that she can’t even make out its shape in her mind, so instead she asks, “What do _you_ want, Villanelle?”

“Honestly, right now I would like to fuck you on your husband’s desk.”

And she shouldn’t be surprised anymore by Villanelle, but she still startles with a kind of full-body twitch.

“I am not going to,” says Villanelle. “I am very busy and you may have already called the police. But I would like to know how you taste.”

Eve can feel the change in her own breathing as it happens, the flush of her cheeks, and for the second time tonight she thinks about lying naked on the desk that she is currently leaning against.

The apple core is still in her hand. Villanelle finally stands up from the student desk where she was sitting, and she reaches out and takes the core from Eve’s hand. This time their fingers do touch, for an instant.

Villanelle places the core on the desk beside Eve, and then she grasps Eve’s wrist and lifts her juice-sticky hand.

Eve’s fingertip ghosts against Villanelle’s lips and then, in the next instant, Villanelle has closed her mouth around Eve’s finger and her tongue is swirling around it like—God. Eve’s breath shudders like she actually _is_ being eaten out on the desk, and her eyes flutter closed which is probably an extreme failure on the part of her survival instincts, and she can still feel her own throbbing heartbeat.

When Villanelle is satisfied that she has licked all the remaining apple juice from Eve’s finger, she releases it with an obscene wet sound and lets Eve’s hand fall back to her side.

They stand there for a moment, making breathless eye contact, and then Villanelle turns and walks away.

The door opens and shuts. Eve presses her fingers to her neck to take her pulse, but she loses count again and again, the classroom blurring in front of her eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> please kudos + comment if you enjoyed!


End file.
